


Detritus: five short stories

by Destina



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-01
Updated: 2003-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:37:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five short SG-1 stories, written between 2002-2003.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detritus: five short stories

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these very short stories were published to my Live Journal in 2002-3, but were never made available on lists or at archives. I've collected them all here because it's easier than making separate pages for such small pieces of writing. Headers are in bold, to make it easier to skip between stories, and word counts are indicated.

**Seduction Vignette (in response to a challenge by Thamiris)  
287 words - September 2003 - J/D**

Jack couldn't remember what it was like to look at Daniel and not want him. Even when Daniel was storms and thunder, struggle and conflict, Jack could not resist him; a wish for happiness was sometimes like sugar in bitter coffee, soothing the raw edges of a hard-lived life. 

And now, Daniel had a plan. Jack could see it unfolding and marveled at its simplicity. The task that had seemed beyond Jack, too complex to attempt, was as easy as a smile for Daniel. Daniel brought good beer and sunshine - not the sunshine of late afternoons, but tthe kind Daniel hid behind eloquent conversation and sudden proficiency with the language of Jack's heart. "It's summer," Daniel said, and persuaded Jack to abandon work, to leave behind overdue chores, trailing the debris of good intentions behind him. 

They drank and talked, laughed and argued, closing the distance between them. Pulling down barriers, one by one, they moved around Jack's house in a spiraling orbit, coming closer and closer to the center until finally, they collided. Daniel's lips smiled; his eyes invited, and his body moved hard against Jack's, wanting him. Crashing together through doors, into walls, into each other, until finally they could be still, inside each other, alone in the quiet space of mutual desire. 

The smell of fresh-cut grass...the sound of lawnmowers, and children playing, and hot summer breezes in the tops of the trees; the feel of Daniel's breath against his neck, slow and even, and the taste of Daniel on his tongue. In the kitchen, coffee was brewing. On the porch, the paper was waiting. 

When Jack closed his eyes, he was surrounded by summer dreams, lazy and quiet on a Sunday morning.

~*~  
end

**Christmas Vignette  
1,031 words - December 2002**

_drip...drip...drip...drip...drip..._

Jack shifted onto his back and stared up into the darkness. The steady patter of dripping water was worse than the rainstorm, worse than the hail had been, worse than thunder and lightning and losing the ability to dial the DHD. Worse even than the prospect of spending an unknown number of days on a cold, wet world. He could handle anything if he could just get some sleep, but the dripping of water from the trees above was making him nuts.

And he wasn't the only one. 

"It's never going to let up, is it?" Daniel's voice was muffled by the sleeping bag zipped across his face. 

"Sounds that way."

"You chose the campsite, right?" A soft accusation, leveled through wintry air. 

Annoyed, Jack answered, "I didn't tell you to pitch the tent under a tree, Daniel. That was your call."

"You could have warned me." Daniel sat up beside him and switched on the lantern. 

"I didn't know the sky was going to break open and a flood would issue forth, either."

Daniel paused, glasses halfway to his face, and raised an eyebrow at Jack. "Very poetic, Jack. Like refrigerator magnets." 

Jack crossed his arms over his chest and shivered. "Well, I didn't."

"I think they probably cover this kind of stuff in basic scouting, don't they? Not that I ever had the chance to participate in those kinds of boy-striving-for-manhood rituals, but...I look to those who are more experienced, those who are wiser and...older..."

"Shut up, Daniel." 

Daniel slipped the glasses on and turned to Jack, peering at him through foggy, frosted-over lenses. "Make me."

Jack chuckled. "You're a real menace." 

"They'll clear up," Daniel said stoically. After a moment, he yanked them off his face and blinked several times. 

"Not clearing up, there, Daniel?" Jack asked, all sympathy. 

"Don't really need them, actually. There's not much in here to see."

Jack winced. "Sorry you feel that way."

Daniel's head dropped down, so Jack could only see the nape of his neck, the damp, close-cropped hair there, and the sharp line of his shoulders beneath the black sweatshirt. "You know what I mean." He rolled his shoulders, stretching them. 

"You should try to get some sleep. Santa's not coming while you're awake."

"Oh, please," Daniel said. He flopped back down, then turned on his side to look at Jack. With a smile, he said, "And I suppose Santa has his own personal stargate, just for emergencies? Because if that's the case, the general should be asking him to give us a sleigh ride home on the return trip."

"I have it on good authority that Santa has elves who do his bidding when he's not around."

"Really?" Daniel scooted closer, sleeping bag and all, like a giant green and black caterpillar. "So, I can play Santa, and you're the elf who does my bidding. While Santa is...coming."

Jack snorted. "Tempting, but no." 

"How tempting?"

The temperature rose immediately - but only about a half a degree. Even Daniel's full-on wicked look couldn't make much of a dent on PX9-it's-so-frigid. "Stand down, Dr. Jackson." 

"Too late." Daniel smiled the smile - the one that made Jack wish for all sorts of things Santa would have a heart attack just thinking about - and scooted even closer. He nuzzled into Jack's neck, warm breath and scratchy skin, with three days' growth of prickly beard. "It's so damned cold."

Jack turned his head and rested his cheek against Daniel's hair. "You did notice I didn't suggest zipping the bags together, right?"

"I did notice that, yes. The rest of me noticed, too. Including the parts that currently have frostbite."

"Which parts are those?" Jack asked softly. 

"Parts that need to be inside something tight and warm." Daniel bit gently at Jack's earlobe. 

The temperature went up another half degree. 

Daniel lifted his head, and then they were kissing. Slow, leisurely kisses, as they sought warmth from one another. Jack let Daniel press him back, let him inch closer. No hands - just those sweet, warm lips, as they tasted each other. 

"What'd Santa bring me?" Daniel murmured, against Jack's parted lips. 

Jack dragged himself away from Daniel and sat up. He fished in his pack for a few moments, then tossed a plastic bag at Daniel. It landed with a squishy pop against Daniel's face. 

"Extra rations?" Daniel guessed hopefully. He peeled the bag off his face and looked down, and his expression transformed into the bright, grateful gaze of a kid with the best toy in the world under his tree. "This is...perfect." He fished out the dry socks and fingered them. "All cotton?"

"Nothing but the best." Jack fidgeted in the sleeping bag. Too sentimental for him, mostly. Also, he was damp. Daniel gave him another lingering smile. The temperature was rising nicely, now. 

Daniel sat up beside him and reached into his own pack. "I can't top dry socks," he said, by way of apology. He handed Jack an orange and red plastic package. 

"Sweet!" Jack exclaimed as he snatched it out of Daniel's hand. "Yes." He ripped the top off and withdrew a withered piece of beef jerky. "Perfect," he mumbled, around a mouthful of the stuff. "None of that teriyaki crap, either."

"Nope. Santa knows what you like."

"You're damned right he does." Jack swallowed hard and reached for Daniel, hand cupping the back of his neck. More kisses, then, and they scooted close together. 

"This beats putting up lights on the house," Jack said softly. He kissed Daniel's closed eyes, and the corner of his mouth. 

"Beats working all night in the mountain, too," Daniel told him. 

Daniel switched off the lantern and they snuggled down, side by side. None of that merry Christmas crap, Jack thought, as he rested his hand on Daniel's sleeping-bag-protected thigh. 

His hand drifted sideways, all by itself. It was getting positively humid in that tent. 

Daniel smacked the hand away. "Good night, Jack." A pause, and then: "What'd you bring for Sam?"

"A protractor."

Daniel chuckled. "We can use it as a frame for her gift card."

"The Harley shop?"

"Am I predictable?"

"It's the thought that counts."

~*~  
end

 

**Death and Taxes  
** Written for Speranza's Tax Shelter project  
490 words - April 2002 

 

P3X-593. P3X-797. PXR-2D2. PXC-3PO.

Daniel opened his eyes and sighed. No amount of planet-counting was going to do the trick. Generally it put him out like a light, but not this night. Not while he was shivering from the cold and separated from two members of his team. Not while a dozen armed men were outside the door. 

They were supposed to be on Earth enjoying a rare day off. Jack would be mowing the lawn, making nice with the duster. Washing the car. Daniel would be edging the lawn, maybe nailing up some shelves in the garage. Things that were routine, and boring as hell, and really appealing at that particular moment. 

"Daniel. You awake?" Jack's whisper from the near-darkness pulled Daniel back to reality. 

"Yes." He turned his head, then turned on his side to face Jack. Their legs were still touching; body contact was an automatic motion detector, the easiest way to determine when Jack had dropped into sleep. Daniel searched for the vague outline of Jack's face.

"Dark in here," Jack said.

"How's the head?" 

"Still attached." Jack shifted; there was a rustle of clothing. "You need your jacket back."

"No," Daniel said, and threw an arm across Jack's body to secure the makeshift blanket in place. "Leave it."

"It doesn't make any sense for you to-"

"Jack. Leave it." Daniel didn't move his arm. After a moment, Jack relaxed. 

"So, you want to explain to me what the hell these people have against us?"

"Well. As near as I could make out, when they were questioning us..." Daniel hesitated. The locals' idea of questioning had been angry shouts and a few well-placed kicks and blows to the head when Jack tried to answer. "We violated a local law of some sort that places restrictions on how goods are paid for."

"What goods?"

"You remember that roasted bird we bartered for in the marketplace? Apparently, accepting it for even trade was a breach of etiquette, since we didn't offer up an additional item as well. Sort of, I don't know - a tax."

"So we're chicken thieves?" 

"No, we're...chicken thieves charged with tax evasion."

Jack snorted. "Can we file for an extension?"

"Ah, no. Too late, I think."

"What now?"

"Don't know, exactly," Daniel said. 

Jack lifted his hand and touched Daniel's face. His thumb brushed across Daniel's lips, tracing them. It was as much contact as they dared while they were on a mission; it wasn't nearly enough. "You should get some sleep," Jack said.

"Can't. You go ahead. I'll wake you in a couple hours. Got to make sure your brain's not more scrambled than it was when we got here."

"Thanks so much," Jack said dryly. 

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Death and taxes," Daniel murmured. 

"What?"

"The only sure things in life," Daniel said. "Death, and taxes."

Jack curled his fingers tightly around Daniel's. "Not if I can help it."

~*~  
end

 

**Field Test No. 1: Properties of Molecular Cohesion  
** Companion piece to X's art work  
815 words - June 2003 

 

Jack still isn't sure this is real. He stays awake to be certain he isn't dreaming. He didn't have the power to say it, to think it, to make it happen; he barely had the strength to imagine it. He knows only that when Daniel opened the boxes, his expression kept changing, light and shadow on a calm, deep sea.

"You kept them," Daniel said. So quietly, without a trace of surprise, but the catch in his voice was the key. 

"What else would I do with them?"

Daniel's hands hovered; the contents stayed in the boxes. Shelf after shelf of journals, nestled snugly together, a testament to history and truth, the chronicles of a life lost. Found again, now. "No. I mean, you kept them."

"Oh." Jack wasn't sure how to answer in a way that wouldn't sound ridiculous. He settled for the obvious. "You wouldn't want someone reading those."

"I guess I must not have cared too much," Daniel said. "At the time." Daniel closed the flap on the box. He raised his eyes to Jack's, watching him in a thoughtful, familiar way, like a scholar reading a well-loved book for the hundredth time. "I care now, though."

"Thought you might." It went without saying Jack had never opened any of them to read them, had never cast his eyes on the private thoughts of Daniel Jackson. The feelings Daniel shared with pen and paper had not been meant for Jack. 

Jack supposed it wouldn't serve any point to tell Daniel how he’d opened the journals just to touch the words, to touch Daniel’s thoughts, his memory; how he'd fallen asleep with his hands on the pages, drawing strength from their silence. 

There were other things, too. Photographs, trinkets. A few clothes. Daniel ran his hands across the corduroys and the sweaters. His fingers curled into the fabric, clenched there, thumbs stroking the soft threads of what had been his daily life. He didn't ask Jack why he'd kept those, out of all the things he might have set aside. 

"It's strange," Daniel said. He didn't elaborate. Jack thought he could probably guess, though. Daniel was alive and kicking, looking over the contents of his life like so much junk at a garage sale--and why was it here, anyway? For the first time, Jack wondered if he should have let the USAF take it all away, crate it up and store it, and then Daniel could start over from scratch, if that was what he wanted. This world was old and fading, and a second chance was something bright, something hopeful. 

"Jack," Daniel said, and that's when Jack knew his heart was all over his face, in the expressions Daniel knew so well. Daniel's knowing smile told him so; Daniel's grateful eyes were so blue, so opaque. "Thank you."

A shrug and a half-smile in response, and then the hard part was over with. Jack was already thinking about grabbing a beer and some dinner, but Daniel was on a different track. He pulled Jack to him in an awkward hug. 

And so, finally, Jack wrapped his arms around the solid presence of Daniel Jackson. Flannel, skin, bone, soft breath on Jack's neck, and Daniel had never been this real before, in all the years they'd wrangled their way through friendship and life. Daniel's hand cupped the back of his neck, slid down and traced Jack's spine. Jack had wondered, if he touched Daniel for too long, if Daniel might not dissolve into light, or fly apart into splintered pieces of memory. But Jack was starting to understand; that was his own heart, his own fear. He'd been fractured for so long. He was healing, now. 

Daniel pulled back, but Jack caught him. Inches apart, and then Jack put his hand on Daniel's shoulder, bracing himself, bracing Daniel. His fingertips followed the line of Daniel's jaw, up to his ear, and then down, just over his pulse, where the fluttering beat of his heart confirmed life and truth, the steady strength that was so much a part of all Daniel was, and ever had been. 

His fingers were resting there when he raised his head and touched Daniel's lips with his own. They parted easily; Daniel had only been waiting for the invitation. He kissed Daniel slowly, with the bittersweet taste of lost time on his lips. 

Daniel sleeps on his side, one arm curled beneath his head, lips parted. He's snoring softly. This is as much as Jack could ever have hoped for. He's not responsible for the anguished wanting that brought him to this moment; he could no more control it than Daniel could control his own desires. It simply is, and was, and is now revealed. In the morning, he will stop to think again, about consequences. 

This, though -- Jack at Daniel's side -- this constant truth remains.

 

**If A Tree Fell  
** Companion piece to X's artwork  
1,151 words - June 2003 

I. 

They'd made promises to each other the first time they accepted the parameters of their own desires. Never on a mission, never where their friends might observe them and be uncomfortable. They'd agreed to separate work and personal, to disavow anything that would put their lives or careers in jeopardy. They'd thought they could stick to their rules, that nothing could ever persuade them to stray from their certainty. 

Daniel supposed he should have known better. 

This realization came to him at the strangest time, in the middle of negotiations with round-faced aliens with sharply narrowed eyes, people who spoke with silence as much as with words. Jack stood beside him, watching him. He was too aware of Jack's presence, too focused on his proximity. He was distracted--not in a dangerous way, but the feelings were difficult to ignore. This was what they'd always hoped to avoid. 

Daniel's explanations faltered, then finally stopped altogether. He added his silence to the quiet of the room. With one glance at Jack, he communicated his apology. The mission was a dismal failure, and tomorrow they would return home without having made progress. He almost wished Sam had come along. She might have found different words, ways to make their points understood. 

When it was time to return to camp, they followed where they were led. In the darkness, Daniel had no idea where they were, or where the stargate was; he was turned around, lost inside the maze of trees and brush. Jack's eyes were on the sky, on the stars overhead, or on the dense jungle beyond. He never looked at Daniel. 

The aliens melted back into the overgrowth and left them to their own designs. Their campsite had not been disturbed. Everything was still in place. Daniel listened to them moving away until the sounds faded. When he turned to Jack, he had thoughts in the queue, any number of them ready to be let loose in conversation. Before he could begin, Jack pressed a finger to his lips; Daniel intuited his message. In silence, they could inhabit the shadows. Just this once. Jack's lips covered his; Jack's fingers touched him, drew him closer. 

Daniel's fingers were shaking. This was the first sign, the inevitability of chaos taking hold. He worked the simple fastenings of the black vest, but his hands would not cooperate. Jack covered and steadied his hands. This was the second sign, the end of everything they'd always clung to, and the beginning of a new order on the edge of desire. 

 

II. 

Face down, mouth open, and Jack's hand stifled his moans. Daniel's hands were braced on the ground. His fingers were burrowed down into the slick fabric of the sleeping bag, clutching, as he bit back his sounds like a good soldier. 

Jack's cock, inside him; Jack's need, threading through him like a golden spark of pleasure, amplified by his own greedy moans. Daniel swallowed his guttural words. He stripped them of their carnal value and discarded their husks in the shallow parts of his mind. This was their private hell, their personal paradise. Words could only intrude. 

Jack's hands spread him apart, splitting him, opening him, until Daniel wanted to scream his understanding into the night air of this foreign world. When he came, Jack kissed him, marking the open spaces where boundaries had once been. 

So easy to forget where they were; so difficult to remember why it was important. 

 

III. 

The stream proved to be an immediate temptation. Naked, they swam in the shallow black water, which gleamed like obsidian under the half-moon. They circled each other, standing waist-deep in the chilly stream, and watched each other with a kind of night-driven lust. 

Daniel was stronger than he'd ever proven before, stronger than Jack had suspected. He held Jack down easily with so little force, but it was hard to take the measure of what was required to hold a willing prisoner. 

The grass was slippery beneath them. Night sounds all around them, not so different from the world they knew, just a new harmony for an ancient song. Daniel slid inside Jack, struck by the notion that this was their simple way of understanding each other, that being inside Jack was only half of what they were to each other. 

Not that it mattered, or had ever mattered. Jack was always inside him now, in daytime, in darkness, here or on any other world. 

 

IV. 

When they woke, sunlight burned them. Daniel flung his arm over his eyes and tried not to think. His brain was on fire and his body was alive, shedding the fever of desire as reality took hold. Time reasserted its dominance. 

Jack's outstretched hand rested on his chest. In his closed grip, Daniel's glasses sparkled. With silent gratitude, Daniel took them and slid them on. His skin tingled; the bites and bruises lingered, stretching him, marking him. He looked at Jack and thought of team, planet, country, duty. All were appealing reasons to forget what they'd just done. Jack would certainly pretend it had never happened here and go back to gluing together their broken rules. 

Daniel decided he would remember, instead. 

 

V. 

They hiked out under the pale morning sun. No banter, no discussion, no remarks about showers and beers and dinner at Jack's place. Daniel felt content without words between them. Just a look, every now and then; Jack's eyes on him, Jack's half-smile reminding him. 

They were close to the gate when Jack reached out for him. Jack dropped his pack, his P-90, and his cloak of silence. "Come here," he said roughly. Daniel followed his orders without question. 

Jack crashed into a tree with Daniel's weight against him. They wrestled, mouths locked together, tasting and gasping and unable to get much closer, though they tried. They rubbed against each other, casting wary glances back into the forest, lest some stranger pass by and see the violence of their emotions. 

So much for the rules. 

 

VI. 

Jack's house was warm and full of light. Daniel preferred it, though he'd barely been able to squeeze the contents of his closet into the tiny space Jack allowed. Soon enough he'd have all he wanted. The price was simply his presence. Jack was never prepared to negotiate. He wasn't the diplomat of the family. They played chess, sometimes, and grinned at each other over a board full of reckless, calculated maneuvers. No one could accuse them of subtlety. They never tried hard enough for that. 

Somewhere in the back of Daniel's mind, the list of promises and parameters remained. It had mutated, and some rules on the list were obsolete: no fucking offworld was a goner, now. He thought maybe they should change it to a checklist: things to try, just once. But Jack would never agree to that. 

At least, not in so many words. 

~*~  
end


End file.
